Aluminum ladders in six-foot sections ride the
backs of porters. Bolted together, the ladders led
to the top of the last major wall (opposite) bar
ring the way out of icefall to the Western Cwm.
way for 500 yards across shattered, unstable
rock flecked with snow and ice. Then we turn
directly up a long snow slope. Our progress
is slow, and I know that the night has taken
a heavy toll. I am having an off day. And to
have it now, of all times! Every climber has
such days, but you always hope to be hot
for the big ones.
Just before 11 o'clock, we attain the crest
of the Southeast Ridge. From here we look
down the 10,000-foot drop of the Kangshung
face into Tibet. I take the lead from Lute and
for another three or four hundred yards we
follow a knife edge of hard snow.
The wind picks up and I feel like a novice
tightrope walker as I fight to keep my bal
ance. The fearful Kangshung face drops
precipitously on my right; on my left, a steep
half-mile below, lies the South Col.
Climbers Buoyed by Candy-bar Lunch
Lute resumes the lead. Dead ahead we spy
our first goal, the South Summit. It towers
some 500 vertical feet above us. In an ex
hausting two and a half hours, we gain only
200 of those forbidding feet. At a rocky out
crop, we pause for the only food we take that
day-a quarter of a candy bar apiece.
Ten minutes later we continue the aching
upward plod. We inch along the line of con
tact between steep snow on our right and
rock outcrops on our left. The slope tilts at a
dangerous 40 to 45 degrees. We generallykeep
to the snow, but when it becomes difficult,
we gingerly tread upon the bare rock, enjoy
ing the best of two very tricky worlds.
At 28,500 feet my first cylinder of oxygen
runs dry. Lute checks his and finds it almost
empty. So we halt on a small sloping ledge
to change bottles. Discarding the old cyl
inders, we lean back against the mountain.
Suddenly I trip over one of the empty bot
tles at my feet and fly out into space. Instinc
tively, I twist in mid-air. Hitting the slope
face-down, I claw at the snow with hands and
feet. I manage to stop.
I glance to my left and see Lute beside me,
holding me with his right hand. He has
jumped out after me, flipped on his belly,
and grabbed. We crawl back up to the ledge,
and lie there for a long moment.
"That could have been serious," Lute says.
I nod. Both of us have narrowly missed
falling all the way into Tibet.
We continue, our packs lighter because of
the discarded oxygen bottles. I feel spent,
dull. One step... six long breaths... another
step... again six breaths. Each pace requires
480